


Countersigned

by thegrumblingirl



Series: More of a Personal Statement [2]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Companion Piece, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 08:44:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a companion piece to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/536815">‘Countermanded,’</a> exploring Q’s side of the relationship and just how exactly his lab got so messed up before 007 first took him home (and every bloody time after that).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countersigned

**Author's Note:**

> For Ch. and Inkie; and everyone else here who loves these two idiots as much as I do.

_Skyfall is where we start  
_ _A thousand miles and poles apart_

Q's fingers were typing away furiously, dancing a precarious dance over his streamlined keyboards, a dance that would falter the second he thought too hard about what he was doing. This was what MI6 had recruited him for, this was what he loved; and his mind was whirring, singing. He was flying. He was terrified.

On the monitors around and in front of him, there were spinning traces, streams of data converging into a picture that was as clear as the sky to him. And right in front of him, the sky was falling, and right slap bang in the middle of it were the vitality signs, GPS data, and staccato communications of a man, tearing through the world like a hurricane. Q watched as 007 took a turn into a building complex that Q had expressly told him to leave alone until further notice, and he couldn't even find it within him to sigh. Instead, he snuck his way into the security system, disabling as many of the traps he could before Bond got too close. A blast and a muffled shout over the comms told him that Bond was a bloody fast runner, and he clenched his teeth. He contemplated putting the feed on loudspeaker, the steady breaths and occasional gasps and grunts punctuated by minor explosions in his ear too close for comfort, but he feared losing the sound in the clamour of the lab, so he left his ear bud in. Finally, 007 was in open terrain again, barking for details on his next destination down the line; and Q had to whirl around and grab yet another tablet to process the information and give Bond what he needed to avoid getting killed (again).

This had been going on for two days now, Tanner had warned him that it would be at least another three, and Q had settled into a state of mind that left room for nothing else. He had no recollection of using the loo, didn't taste the food that magically appeared on a small table underneath his desk, had no idea how his coffee mug seemed to be self-replenishing. His sole attention was focused on tracking 007 and their target's progress as they unerringly made their way towards the other; ready to tear apart everything in their path, and then each other. Silva wanted revenge, Bond wanted to protect Queen and country, and, most of all, M. Silva should have known better than to make it personal.

_Where you go, I go  
_ _What you see, I see_

Q had accompanied many agents on their missions like this, had fed them vital information, had eased their way, had kept an eye on their blind spots. Bond, however, was a challenge and a brilliant catastrophe, giving Q more to work with, more data to triangulate, and more stomach-flipping jolts of adrenaline in one day than the average MI6 geek got in a lifetime. He watched him jump cliffs, trains, and buildings, watched as the beeping GPS signal performed an intricate dance through the capitals and backwaters of the world, spinning a spider’s web that no-one who had ever gotten on Bond’s bad side would escape alive or, at best, unchained. He improvised, changed the plan, went off on tangents that somehow all led to one point; and Q felt exhilarated as he went from following to anticipating Bond’s movements. Slowly but surely, they learnt to move and think as one, to the point where one was an extension of the other, and when 007 looked his target in the eye and killed him, Q stood at his desk, feet planted firmly, the only sounds in his ear Bond’s harsh breathing and the wild beating of his own heart. Neither of them spoke.

_Let the Skyfall_  
 _When it crumbles_  
 _We will stand tall  
_ _Face it all together_

Hours later, Q was pressed up against the wall in 007’s den, the taller man leaning into him and plundering his mouth. They were a tangle of lips and tongues and teeth, and when Bond pulled away for air and immediately dove back in, brushing his lower lip against Q’s gently before kissing him thoroughly, Q bucked his hips and James groaned against him. Q shifted his grip on Bond’s coat to push it off his shoulders. This was the worst and best idea they could have possibly had.

Pyjamas. Who knew.

 

 

The next morning, he awoke to a pair of arms and legs wrapped securely around him, a soft breath stirring his chaotic hair, a strong heartbeat against his back. For a moment, he dared not move, unwilling to poke a hole into their cocoon of warmth, but he had to go to the bathroom and he needed a shower yesterday and—

“Good morning,” a voice rumbled into his neck, rough from sleep, and Q haltingly reached back to card a hand through James’ hair. The agent hummed, a deep, contented sound in the quiet bedroom, then spoke again, his lips brushing Q’s shoulder. “Shower? Breakfast?”

Q stretched his limbs like an overgrown cat, arching in Bond’s embrace. “In that order,” he agreed, watching as Bond kicked off the sheets, rolled away from him and out of bed, rounding the corner to hold out a hand to Q and pull him along towards the bathroom.

 

 

The next afternoon, Q knew that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go—or at least that was what he’d thought; before he’d spent last night with James’ hands buried in his black curls, body writhing against him. He knew that 007 was in no state to fall in love with someone and know it, he was familiar with his past and his track record; and yet the push hadn’t come—so far. He looked up from the book he was reading, glasses back on his nose, his back propped up against the pillows; looked at James dozing tucked into his side, and decided not to push his luck. Q knew not to want what he couldn’t have, so when James blinked up at him and found him staring, Q answered the small smile James gave him with one of his own, but then took the plunge.

“I guess it’s time I should be seen in my own flat again, isn’t it? It’s Thursday.”

Just for a second, James’ eyes darkened with something Q couldn’t name, but he nodded and drew a little closer, stroking his hand up and down Q’s thigh on top of the sheets. After a few more minutes, James sat up, his shoulder brushing Q’s arm, setting nerve endings alight.

“Help me make dinner?” he asked, his blue eyes bright and calm and open, and Q leaned over and kissed his cheek before jumping up, ignoring the faintly surprised expression on the agent’s face, skimming into one of James’ pyjamas. He turned to James briefly, grinning, then took off towards the kitchen, calling, “Race you!” over his shoulder. He heard James snort a laugh behind him and give a mumble that sounded suspiciously like, ‘That crazy kid,’ while pulling on some clothes himself, and then James was next to him half a minute later, staring into the fridge, the two of them throwing recipes at each other.

 

 

After dinner, which they’d spent on the sofa, sitting so idiotically close that their elbows bumped half the time and more pasta fell off their forks than was strictly appropriate for men of their positions, Q cleared the dishes and went back to the bedroom to gather his scattered clothing. James lurked in the doorway and watched him change. When Q was done, he brushed past him into the den, and gathered up his coat.

“Do you want me to give you a lift?” James asked, still standing in the bedroom door, his eyes hidden in shadow.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll take the tube, it’s not far,” Q replied, and James made a soft sound that Q now knew meant amusement.

“Of course you’ll take the tube, you environmentalist geek,” came the inevitable teasing as James slowly walked closer in the half-light. Q tilted his head and countered, “If I were a true environmentalist, I wouldn’t have told you to blow up half of Europe last week, don’t you think?”

“Well, we cleverly avoided Hyde Park and major zoological gardens, I’m sure that counts for something.” Their banter had drawn James towards him, and he was now standing directly next to Q, who cleared his throat after a few moments of silence.

“I’ll get going, then—see you at the lab for your next mission?” he prompted, allowing himself a smile when James nodded.

“Shouldn’t be long before something else goes wrong,” he muttered sardonically. Q chuckled, and then pulled himself together and towards the door.

“Goodbye, then, 007,” he intoned, congratulating himself on sounding calm, and when James merely nodded again, he nodded back and opened the door. He was half-way through it when James snapped into movement behind him.

“Wait,” he called, and Q barely had time to turn around before Bond pushed the door closed again, stepped up into Q’s space, not crowding him but seeking his warmth, and kissed him. It was a simple kiss, almost lazy, a slow brush and slide of lips, but it still left them both breathing harder than five minutes ago when they broke apart. Still leaning into him, Bond bumped his nose against Q’s temple and murmured, “I’ll come find you.” Q’s hand, which had come to rest on his chest, curled into the fabric of James’ t-shirt.

* * *

 

“Alright, who did he jump into bed with that he shouldn’t have this time?” M asked, exasperation and anger fighting for dominance in her voice, her attention fixed on the Quartermaster. There was a glint in her eye that James had actually warned him about before leaving on his latest mission. ‘M knows all,’ was all he’d added, smirking, before registering Q’s wide eyes. He’d stepped a little closer then, mindful of the busy lab bustling with technicians around them. ‘But don’t worry, she likes you.’

Q’s stomach somersaulted at the idea of her approval, but he quickly collected himself and calmly pulled up their target’s ex-wife’s profile.

 

* * *

 

Q walks into the lab, which appears—for now—pristine and calm and completely under control. He calls up the status reports that have accumulated overnight, and finds the one he’s looking for. It’s flagged for his attention, which is the first bad sign. It’s also adorned with a few strongly worded comments by those who handled the check-ins during his absence, and Q can’t help the smile that spreads on his face at that.

“I miss you, too, James,” he murmurs under his breath so no-one else can hear, and then activates the connection to somewhere on the road just outside Los Angeles. “Hello, 007.”

“Quartermaster.”

Oh, someone’s in a strop.

* * *

 

Q knows that James sometimes worries that he’s too young; he knows that James will probably never fully realise what it is they truly have. But then James is teasing him and caressing his skin, breathing him in, smiling at their future, and none of it matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, I get nothing. Bits of lyrics taken from Adele’s ‘Skyfall’ theme.
> 
> Crossposted on ff.net.


End file.
